


Quiet before the Dawn

by prattery



Series: Winning the Battle, Losing the War [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), merlin returns, no beta we die like men, not yet but eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29949072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prattery/pseuds/prattery
Summary: When the dark clouds roll in and the sky rumbles with thunder, the people of Camelot would often find their king standing next to one castle window or another, looking out with an inscrutable expression on his face. They don’t ask who he is waiting for, but they don’t have to.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Winning the Battle, Losing the War [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821733
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	Quiet before the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm back to working on the series! Sorry it took so long, I had half-formed ideas floating around in my head for ages and struggled with stringing them together into a coherent story. 
> 
> Previously:  
> \- Merlin deals with a lot of bottled up trauma  
> \- Arthur tries to be there for him  
> \- Arthur lets Merlin go and Merlin takes what is essentially a gap year

_Arthur spent what felt like centuries planning for this day, making sure that every single hour of his day would be occupied from the moment he steps away from that courtyard. He wouldn’t wait. As Merlin turned, so would Arthur, walking back into the castle before Merlin and Gwaine had the opportunity to ride off and disappear into the horizon. He wouldn’t look back to see if Merlin hesitated at all. He has decided that he doesn’t want to know._

* * *

Arthur learns, with a strange sense of detached surprise, that the world doesn’t stop just because Merlin is gone. As soon as he finishes one task, another would arise, over and over with no end line in sight. For this, Arthur is grateful. When he is done training for the day, he would throw himself into his other duties with such single-mindedness that he’d fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, well before he could notice Merlin’s rather noticeable absence from his bed. And that’s exactly how he would like things to be.

* * *

Arthur wonders if the castle has always been this quiet.

He has to scoff out loud. It’s all a bit daft, really. He knows, in theory, that it’s not in any way _quiet_ —the castle pulses with life, the way it always does. Nervous scullery maids scurrying to get out of his way, foreign dignitaries whose footsteps always seem to echo, other pompous lords with their booming roars—these stone halls are always far from silent. But to Arthur’s ears, it’s as though every noise has faded into a background hum. He is always straining for the familiar noise that’s just not there.

Merlin does everything with bluster—he wouldn’t know subtlety if it charges at him like a wild boar. He's always crashing about the place, tripping over his own foot or an errant branch or a table leg gone rogue, generally making more commotion than should humanly be possible. Arthur doesn’t know at which stage of his life that he began to expect to hear dull explosions or other equally inexplicable noises coming from the room adjacent, all part of Merlin’s pursuit of academia, but the lack of them now is impossible to miss.

For all of Arthur’s complaint, the silence Merlin left behind is deafening.

* * *

These days, there’s an air of unfamiliarity about Camelot that Arthur doesn’t like.

The ridiculousness of the notion is not lost on him. He has lived within these walls all his life and never belonged anywhere else. It’s his home. Yet the hallways feel too wide, the ceilings too high. Merlin and Arthur had lived out of each other’s pockets for so long that walking down the hallways without Merlin following him, just a half-step behind, getting underfoot and generally being bothersome, feels nothing short of alien. It’s unnerving how a man that Arthur has known for such a short period of time would have this profound an effect on him. 

It’s not just the ringing silence, either. Arthur sees reminders of Merlin’s absence _everywhere_ , from the lack of extra helpings of tarts that Merlin would somehow pilfer from under Cook’s nose (Arthur has no doubts that magic was involved), to the way his room is always spotless. Arthur had forgotten what it’s like to actually have high standards of service. His bathwater has _flowers_ now _,_ for goodness’ sakes. Even his breakfasts are now too large without Merlin stealing his sausages.

Most ridiculous of all, however, is how his bed feels cold and dauntingly enormous without Merlin lying next to him, hogging all the space and all the blankets. It’s a marvel, truly, how much space such a slim man can take up. Arthur would gladly exchange all the sausages in his kingdom and all the blankets to have Merlin back. It’s a good thing he never has to admit it out loud.

* * *

Arthur waits, but it was Guinevere who received a letter first.

She bolts into Arthur’s chambers after knocking a series of excited rhythm on his door, barely waiting for Arthur’s gracious _come in_ before bounding in, brandishing a parchment with Merlin’s seal on it.

Arthur knows exactly what it is—probably because he’s been expecting one for weeks, now—and sputters indignantly. “How come you get a letter and I don’t?”

This, he knows for sure, because Arthur has been checking most religiously.

“Because he’s my friend first,” Guinevere gloats unreservedly, “Maybe if you hadn’t been such a—dollophead _,_ is that the word?—to him, he would’ve written you by now.”

“Oh, he loves it, really,” Arthur returns, before muttering sullenly. “Well. He gave _me_ the dragon,”

“Why is it always a competition with you?” Guinevere sighs, rolling her eyes. “And weren’t you the one who whinged at me because _he_ turned it into a competition? Knowing full well that you love that dragon and keep it by your person at all times?”

“I do not _whinge,_ ” Arthur denies haughtily, “and anyway, I didn’t turn it into a competition, you did.” he peers in, trying to catch a glimpse of what Merlin wrote. Unluckily for Arthur, Merlin’s illegible scrawl is difficult enough to decipher the right way round—upside down, it’s nigh impossible. “Go on then, what does it say?”

“You know, the usual,” she smiles. Rather smugly, Arthur thinks. “Misses Camelot, misses all of us. Enjoying it, I think.”

“Oh, is he now,” Arthur grunts, before Guinevere’s words catch up to him. “What do you mean, the usual? Has he written to you before?”

“Well, no, but to Gaius,”

“How come I wasn’t told of this?”

“I suppose you’d have to take it up with Gaius,” replies Guinevere, disturbingly unbothered. Her eyes are flicking rapidly upon the parchment, scanning the words that Merlin wrote. How she could decipher the jumbled scrawl is beyond Arthur.

“I think I liked you better when you were a stammering mess around me,” Arthur gripes without much heat.

“Well, there’s no need to be like that,” Guinevere drawls, but it’s only half an admonishment. “Look, I know you’re worried—don’t look at me like that, I know you are—perhaps he was just—“ she trails off, unsure. “You know, preoccupied.”

“Bet he is,” Arthur grits out. “Well. Good to know that he’s still alive, at least.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it and hope it does the prequels justice. More to come of course as Merlin's not even back yet. As always, would love to hear your thoughts--suggestions, corrections, and hypotheses are always welcome.


End file.
